tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-140873152018-03-06T20:02:49.715-05:00EPPERSONIC...welcome to the jungleB^4noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-89046408642327117982016-11-09T03:30:00.000-05:002016-11-09T03:30:20.653-05:00Election Night...Tonight my eldest son and I were awake to witness much of the Election results from the comfy confines of our Seattle area home. He had a lot of questions about the electoral map, candidates, views, the voting process, World War III, the Senate, Trump's treatment of women, my vote, Mom's vote, Hillary's health, etc. I enjoyed answering his many, many questions - he was mesmerized tonight to either watch some history unfold or just stay up late on a school night, eyes bright with interest and innocence.<br /><br />At one point - while explaining briefly the different roles the &nbsp;Executive and Legislative branches occupy - I paused for a long time to consider the beauty and simplicity of James Madison's vision for our structured government; this great Republic that derives its powers from the consent of the governed. The legislative-executive-judicial tug-of-war that George Will once described as "built for safety, not speed", was actually borrowed by Madison from the French philosopher, Montisquieu, who, among other quotable theses, wrote:<i> “There can be no liberty where the legislative and executive powers are united in the same person, or body of magistrates… if the power of judging be not separated from the legislative and executive powers”.</i><br /><br />So... Donald Trump. He will ride into office cloaked in GOP adjectives 'conservative' and 'Republican' but with little understanding of what these descriptives mean. His knowledge of the mechanics of the government are poor. His temperament is irresolute and he treats others with an unnerving disdain. He never considered serving in the military but now will command the world's greatest and most complicated military force.<br /><br />Tonight's election result is so, so strange. When Obama was chosen over McCain I was comforted that the Presidency is - by design - a weak office. Today, I take similar solace in the belief that this truly is a nation of laws and not men - and there is hope that we can defeat what Lincoln deemed our only real foe: the <i>"silent artillery of time"</i>.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6u9W1RhSF8E/WCLd_2NwTHI/AAAAAAAASR4/10tbHFqlwcsdlgJaAKnwN4cblHuCAGuaACKgB/s1600/IMG_20161108_225530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6u9W1RhSF8E/WCLd_2NwTHI/AAAAAAAASR4/10tbHFqlwcsdlgJaAKnwN4cblHuCAGuaACKgB/s320/IMG_20161108_225530.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Oh, and little man only made it through half of my musings before he zonked out...<br /><br />B^4noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-29543664957843665792010-06-14T23:30:00.017-04:002010-06-22T00:27:49.821-04:00Give my regards to...<div style="text-align: center;">...a sweaty, ABC gum-covered auditorium in Parsippany, New Jersey.</div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb5tSb6TnI/AAAAAAAAA9o/RhIqZiZO5QI/s400/IMG_4267.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482844152808492658" style="text-align: center;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">After 9 months in tap/ballet Brooklyn's long-awaited performance had arrived. Roughly a thousand bucks and 40 trips to class ended with a bunch of parents pulling themselves away from the couch to don their best mustard-stained WWE paraphernalia and watch kids lunge about a creaky high school stage for 2 hours. Anticipation hung in the air, palpable like Brut cologne, which also hung in the air since 50% of the Fathers kept an extra bottle in the glove compartment of the Fiero for 'special occasions'.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TCA2Wun4AeI/AAAAAAAAA-w/_yD0-sTQDzE/s1600/IMG_4272.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TCA2Wun4AeI/AAAAAAAAA-w/_yD0-sTQDzE/s400/IMG_4272.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485444110237565410" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 191px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Brooklyn's class, a gaggle of Pre-K giggling girls, tap-danced to Annie's <i>'You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile'</i>. It was really cute, but lasted all of 80 seconds. 80 fetching seconds - here, take my money.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In all seriousness, it was a cute performance and the girl in the middle really was the best. ;)</div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TCA0jzDRMMI/AAAAAAAAA-g/ax3jN4fePEk/s1600/IMG_4256.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TCA0jzDRMMI/AAAAAAAAA-g/ax3jN4fePEk/s400/IMG_4256.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485442135741247682" style="text-align: center;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It's what you wear from ear to ear, and not from head to toe...</i></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb9QVlg6qI/AAAAAAAAA-Y/mstQuYK7J-8/s1600/IMG_4313.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TCA2ViMUueI/AAAAAAAAA-o/-fv1UvDKlSo/s400/IMG_4313.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485444089720912354" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 287px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>That matters...</i></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb5tSb6TnI/AAAAAAAAA9o/RhIqZiZO5QI/s1600/IMG_4267.JPG"></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb5s9GI5vI/AAAAAAAAA9g/otzz9xnmDro/s1600/IMG_4292.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb5s9GI5vI/AAAAAAAAA9g/otzz9xnmDro/s400/IMG_4292.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482844147080029938" style="text-align: center;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sheree recently told Bear "we'll water the plants tomorrow, tomorrow" - to which he replied "I luv ya, tomorrow...", attempting to complete the <i>Annie</i> ditty.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">At Brooklyn's practice recital the week before the performance, here is Braden looking mad because he spent the day in a sort of all-day rolling time-out. This kid really can flip the switch from "ruly" to "unruly" to "beyond Thunderdome" in a matter of minutes.</div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb9PBZsZaI/AAAAAAAAA-A/nSvcYr84_qM/s1600/IMG_4260.JPG"><img style="text-align: center;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb9PBZsZaI/AAAAAAAAA-A/nSvcYr84_qM/s400/IMG_4260.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482848030886225314" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">Instead of using his words to let us know he's done with the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, he thinks it's just hi-larious to dump the bowl on his head. Actually, he thinks any mess that someone else has to clean up is hilarious.</div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb9Pl0TjtI/AAAAAAAAA-I/_FBBrhatD80/s1600/IMG_4246.JPG"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb9Pl0TjtI/AAAAAAAAA-I/_FBBrhatD80/s400/IMG_4246.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482848040661520082" style="text-align: center;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Brittiny and I have Birthdays a week apart, so Nano </div><div style="text-align: center;">blesses our house with the Twin Abes come June. Wow, another Bday.</div></div><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb9QJbGtrI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/z-rOVvxu-MQ/s1600/IMG_4316.JPG"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TBb9QJbGtrI/AAAAAAAAA-Q/z-rOVvxu-MQ/s400/IMG_4316.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482848050219497138" style="text-align: center;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But I don't need Nano's thoughtful fin to realize that I am old. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TCA7XUJBI2I/AAAAAAAAA-4/bMd2Y_yPGm8/s1600/ICYHOT.jpg"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/TCA7XUJBI2I/AAAAAAAAA-4/bMd2Y_yPGm8/s400/ICYHOT.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485449617866826594" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 116px; height: 116px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The other day I spent 20 minutes looking for the <i>Icy Hot</i>, then proceeded to blame my prolonged search on the kids having 'gotten into my stuff'. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Who does that sound like, Dad???</div>B^4noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-54649188580136480772010-05-17T21:38:00.011-04:002010-05-17T23:43:09.399-04:00Teach your children well...<div>... to do as you say, not as you do. Otherwise you risk a child exposing, in you, the <i>moral hazard </i>oft-cited in connection with government programs and the mafia.</div><div><br /></div><div><u><br /></u></div><div><u>Exhibit A</u>: </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i> <b> Dad</b></i></div><div><i></i>"No candy, honey, we eat good things because they help us stay healthy and keep our bodies strong."</div><div> <i> <b> The 4 year-old daughter</b></i></div><div><i></i>"Then you need to eat more good things, fat-boy."</div><div> <b><i> Dad</i></b></div><div>"Brooklyn, remember that <i>in the course of justice, none of us should see salvation. We do pray for mercy. And that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy." </i></div><div> <i><b>The 4 year-old daughter</b></i></div><div>"Dad, I have some good news and some bad news. The really bad news is that you are getting fat. Well, I don't really have any good news."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Stiff upper lip and all while your child argues her way out of a teachable moment and reveals your dichotomic actions - without even taking her attention away from <i>Wow Wow Wubbzy - </i>then nuzzle up to some Chubby Hubby, Chubby Hubby.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H9mjXWdFI/AAAAAAAAA8k/BsYQ6EL6jyU/s1600/IMG_3963.JPG"><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H9mjXWdFI/AAAAAAAAA8k/BsYQ6EL6jyU/s400/IMG_3963.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472433861001901138" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a>Picture of Bear-Bear on the cusp of "being up to no good". He has this look that makes you compulsively recount all the <i>Sharpies</i> in the kitchen drawer and sit straining your ears to listen for the gentle trickle of running water somewhere in the house.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H23FPAhVI/AAAAAAAAA8E/WlFB0twAHg4/s400/IMG_4196.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472426448390227282" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; ">Brittiny was craving Baja's, a Mexican food joint in CT one Saturday morning, and Pregnant Wife gets what Pregnant Wife wants: a trip to the ol' stomping grounds and authentic guacamole. Here we walked along the Waste Haven boardwalk. </span></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H-TXUGjFI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/UROhHEXlihQ/s1600/IMG_4103.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H-TXUGjFI/AAAAAAAAA9Y/UROhHEXlihQ/s400/IMG_4103.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472434630861163602" /></a>Brittiny and Brookers in Wooster Park. We had to pay Brooklyn $5 to get her to smile.<div><br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H-S4r5gDI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/Q7w6odfyofk/s1600/IMG_4062.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H-S4r5gDI/AAAAAAAAA9Q/Q7w6odfyofk/s400/IMG_4062.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472434622639472690" /></a>The kids and I are petting a very friendly chocolate lab mix. His name was Unconditional Surrender.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H24OZkWWI/AAAAAAAAA8c/9rL8_zdlmvs/s1600/IMG_4145.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H24OZkWWI/AAAAAAAAA8c/9rL8_zdlmvs/s400/IMG_4145.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472426468030306658" /></a>Bear playing in Wooster Park. I like this picture 'cause he looks like a little dude.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H236lKsGI/AAAAAAAAA8U/6tgMv-VllVE/s1600/IMG_4171.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H236lKsGI/AAAAAAAAA8U/6tgMv-VllVE/s400/IMG_4171.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472426462710247522" /></a>Now he's hanging around.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H9nC_ZwMI/AAAAAAAAA8s/GZX94qtkWac/s1600/IMG_4006.JPG"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H9nC_ZwMI/AAAAAAAAA8s/GZX94qtkWac/s400/IMG_4006.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472433869491388610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H9nC_ZwMI/AAAAAAAAA8s/GZX94qtkWac/s1600/IMG_4006.JPG"></a></span><div style="text-align: left;">Brooklyn looking beautiful and sweet. How I'll miss these days when she's somewhere between age 10 and How-Ever-Old-Kellie-is-Right-Now.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H23FPAhVI/AAAAAAAAA8E/WlFB0twAHg4/s1600/IMG_4196.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H23FPAhVI/AAAAAAAAA8E/WlFB0twAHg4/s1600/IMG_4196.JPG"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S_H9nUstqpI/AAAAAAAAA80/KKj-dUZzFqQ/s1600/IMG_4005.JPG"><br /></a></span></div></div></div>B^4noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-28115538079599443302010-05-01T21:43:00.018-04:002010-05-01T22:49:42.645-04:00The erosion of bedtime stories in the Epperson household...<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S9zlmwhfhBI/AAAAAAAAA78/qvwvlochpJw/s1600/lazy-road-demotivational-poster.jpg"></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S9zkKDM_ETI/AAAAAAAAA70/YO0CgGuEtdo/s1600/dragon.jpg"></a>is nearly complete. Time was I would bring elaborate plot-lines and character-specific voices into the evening storytelling. Subtly I would lead Brooklyn, wide-eyed, through a world of grotesque monsters, angelic princesses and involved social situations. The plot-lines were complicated and imaginative (think <i>Dexter</i>) and the action intense (think <i>Remo Williams</i>). But, sadly, I realize that the situation has somehow changed. <div><br /></div><div>To wit, here is a portion from Brookers' favorite bedtime story 2 years ago:</div><div><br /><div>"...the Prince rode his horse swiftly up the winding stone path toward Maleficent's dark castle perched atop the jagged peaks of the Devil's Backbone, the steed's hooves producing sharp metronomic clicks that scattered into the still night. The brave Prince Phillip slipped his hand down toward the glowing Sword of Truth and closed his fingers around its leather-wrapped handle. The cold steel grew warm to his touch, a pale blue light eking out from the edges of the scabbard..."</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S9zkKDM_ETI/AAAAAAAAA70/YO0CgGuEtdo/s400/dragon.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466494909030535474" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 292px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>I used to care. I used to watch Brooklyn's reaction to every line of the story. She would pull the covers up to right under her nose when Maleficent were in a scene, beam when I described Aurora dancing with her Prince, and squirm (but also ask for me to repeat the details) when they finally smooched.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's what she and Braden got last night:</div><div><br /></div><div>"...so the Prince was like, hey, how come we have this report running in UAT but no requirements were drawn up? And then the evil co-worker was like: Oh, didn't you see that e-mail - it went out to the whole kingdom?</div><div><br /></div><div>And then the Prince went home and his Princess was all: make me some nachos - now the cheese is too bubbled, how long did you nuke these - do everything I say - is that your wet towel on the bed - I'm pregnant - hang that shelf in the laundry room."</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah, I can only imagine how little effort I'll put forward with #3.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S9zlmwhfhBI/AAAAAAAAA78/qvwvlochpJw/s400/lazy-road-demotivational-poster.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466496501744108562" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div></div>B^4noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-81773320055748247912010-04-21T12:01:00.008-04:002010-04-21T12:40:12.657-04:00It's been a while...since we last blogged. No real changes with us. Brittiny and I have divided time between our kids &amp; Matlock reruns on <span style="font-style: italic;">Lifetime</span>. All is well, no complaints.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88jdVfNLeI/AAAAAAAAA7E/z-62EGIMWYc/s1600/IMG_3831.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88jdVfNLeI/AAAAAAAAA7E/z-62EGIMWYc/s400/IMG_3831.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462623859914911202" border="0" /></a>Brittiny had to bribe Brooklyn to let her snap some pics. She's growing up so fast. Before I know it I'll be time to go pawnshopping for a shotgun.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88jcwlJaFI/AAAAAAAAA68/d7g7xfQXD_8/s1600/IMG_3807.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88jcwlJaFI/AAAAAAAAA68/d7g7xfQXD_8/s400/IMG_3807.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462623850007717970" border="0" /></a>Braden is now old enough to fore-go the nightly milk. Instead he and Brookers now share a pre-bedtime protein shake.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88lmtQNkuI/AAAAAAAAA7U/RE_HRHvBbuU/s1600/IMG_3836.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88lmtQNkuI/AAAAAAAAA7U/RE_HRHvBbuU/s400/IMG_3836.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462626219936551650" border="0" /></a>Brooklyn &amp; her Pre-school pals made Rice Krispie treats. Little Andrew, in the green smock, always finds excuses to give Brooklyn a hug. He always finds her at church and invents excuses to get close to her. The day he breaks out some Li'l Buckaroo cologne it's gonna be curtains for the whole group Pre-school experiment.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88lmSV1-rI/AAAAAAAAA7M/isH9VjVKQOs/s1600/IMG_3813.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88lmSV1-rI/AAAAAAAAA7M/isH9VjVKQOs/s400/IMG_3813.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462626212712413874" border="0" /></a>A few months back we had a couple of big snowstorms. The kids loved playing in the snow. I couldn't get the kids to come inside, so I lied and said I saw a snow-snake. It worked to get them back in the house. Uncle Don also sprinted to the front door as well.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88nrFBgjhI/AAAAAAAAA7s/nUG8-5e1Zko/s1600/IMG_3858.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88nrFBgjhI/AAAAAAAAA7s/nUG8-5e1Zko/s400/IMG_3858.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462628494060064274" border="0" /></a>Bear playing with Nina. I think Nina gets frustrated with Bear's weak throwing arm. I've noticed that as the tennis ball duties have naturally been abdicated to grandchildren Nina has grown increasingly 'hippy'.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88nq0W0JjI/AAAAAAAAA7k/diSakLXgaWw/s1600/IMG_3879.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88nq0W0JjI/AAAAAAAAA7k/diSakLXgaWw/s400/IMG_3879.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462628489586026034" border="0" /></a>Brooklyn with gal pal Avery. Those two were like a couple of long lost teen girl squad members reunited.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88nqUtK6iI/AAAAAAAAA7c/8uYCbrF0gyQ/s1600/IMG_3887.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/S88nqUtK6iI/AAAAAAAAA7c/8uYCbrF0gyQ/s400/IMG_3887.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462628481089858082" border="0" /></a>Bear is growing up too fast, too. Time for another baby!B^4noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-75394055553191209892009-10-30T22:15:00.017-04:002009-10-30T22:57:42.386-04:00Women Be Shopping..."Honey, can you come here?" he heard faintly from beyond the monochromatic layers of overpriced and inconsequential blouses. They hung in a perfect row, flowing gently against the breeze of a nearby department store air conditioner that hummed quietly to ensure a comfortable shopping ambience. He envied the air conditioner, answering only to the predictable, rational demands of electricity and natural physical laws.
<br />
<br />Maybe in another time, another place, he could aspire to an existence as purposeful as that of the Haier cooling unit - today he was an indentured shopper.
<br />
<br />The voice, though soft and feminine, weighed him down. She was a woman driven by two insatiable desires: to adorn her physique and simultaneously suck the will to live from his body - the latter she accomplished one dollar at a time. He turned slowly and rose from his seat, glazed and tired eyes perceiving the faint outlines of odd, oblong shapes set at strange angles across the jumbled floor. Years ago, he thought, an architect had designed this Filene's edifice with the sole purpose of illuminating and exaggerating the beauty of its merchandise. Lights were hung at the perfect height, mirrors mounted lengthwise along every wall with a reflective marble floor offering a sharp "click, click" as the lioness prowls around in pumps hunting her prey. But his male eyes ignored the bait, impervious to the sinister, careful niche marketing. His mind flitted, instead, back to the tumbling football that glanced off the upright in the afternoon JETS game - wide left - he would have made $20. Oh well.
<br />
<br />Plodding along, slow methodical steps navigating clumsily through the crumpled morasse of fashion and fabric, the silhouette of what appeared to be his wife came subtly into focus near an open changing room door. He blinked to clear his blurred vision, then picked his head up slightly and rested his gaze on what appeared to be her feet. He didn't have the energy to straighten his neck and look into her eyes, and he wasn't sure he could peer into them even if he must. His ears strained to listen as he mouth moved rapidly, words flying from her lips as if she were the MicroMachine guy hawking miniature cars:
<br />
<br />"...having a hard time deciding blah blah blah... already have a shrug, you know, but it's not blah blah blah... if I were looking for something more formal, then obviously blah blah blah... can always bring it back if blah blah... just to die for blah blah blah!"
<br />
<br />What he perceived as a brief pause in her shopping sermon was quickly followed by several moments of silence. Oh no. Small beads of sweat seeped from his forehead and pupils constricted to narrow his vision - silence was never good. He forced the kind of smile a damaged Kirk Gibson feigned for Tommy Lasorda before walking toward the on deck circle in Game 1 - a smile that masks anguish and assures the its recipient that everything is fine - then raised his head to meet her gaze.
<br />
<br />"So?" she asked with a tone that left him unsure if the inquisition were rhetorical or desperate for an answer. Hearkening back to a particularly informative episode of the Simpsons he remembered Homer's advice that women always want compliments.
<br />
<br />"Looks great!", he blurted, reaching out to touch her shirt. He modified his affect, forcing a semi-furtive smile, and rubbed the fabric gently between his thumb and forefinger. "Very nice, and the shirt looks really good with the pants. I can definitely see you in this." He let his hand drop back to his side, proud of himself for a moment.
<br />
<br />Her face was expressionless, her blue eyes a little cold: "These are my clothes - I wore them into the store. You're an idiot."B^4noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-73685631212890961422009-09-20T22:06:00.010-04:002009-09-21T14:14:15.833-04:00"The Garden State"...may not be the way I would describe Jersey. But perhaps when early colonists settled the banks of the Passaic River all of the good names for Industrial Sepsis were taken. They did name a town Peapack, however.<br /><br />Anyway, we're settled in Jersey and the wife has hopefully finished buying IKEA furniture to make our rental look like home.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SrbiS94Y13I/AAAAAAAAA1k/H-yRd-w2IC8/s1600-h/IMG_3382.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SrbiS94Y13I/AAAAAAAAA1k/H-yRd-w2IC8/s400/IMG_3382.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383739220044601202" border="0" /></a>Brady examines a gord at a local farmer's market. "Farmer's Market" is an old Iriquois term meaning "clever ploy to sell unwashed vegetables to yuppy's at above-market prices."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SrbiSXiIXaI/AAAAAAAAA1c/KsI2_jtzq4I/s1600-h/IMG_3374.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SrbiSXiIXaI/AAAAAAAAA1c/KsI2_jtzq4I/s400/IMG_3374.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383739209750699426" border="0" /></a>Brooklyn makes nice with a couple of pumpkins, naming them Orangy and Pumpky. Wonder if she'll cry when I slice those beasts open and cut out their guts all over the kitchen table.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SrbiSHGg6KI/AAAAAAAAA1U/Jp_hnIBnmo0/s1600-h/IMG_3373.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SrbiSHGg6KI/AAAAAAAAA1U/Jp_hnIBnmo0/s400/IMG_3373.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383739205339900066" border="0" /></a>Here are a few more pumpkins, unaware of the horrible end they each shall meet.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Sre-zpvm_mI/AAAAAAAAA1s/IPN7saa2QPk/s1600-h/IMG_3411.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Sre-zpvm_mI/AAAAAAAAA1s/IPN7saa2QPk/s400/IMG_3411.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383981674132864610" border="0" /></a>Kickin' around the Pumpkin Patch. Man, kids are a lot of work.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SrbiRAmqEPI/AAAAAAAAA1E/HClhmlSqRms/s1600-h/IMG_3364.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SrbiRAmqEPI/AAAAAAAAA1E/HClhmlSqRms/s400/IMG_3364.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383739186415800562" border="0" /></a>Brooklyn never smiles when we want her to. I'm told her behavior should improve drastically as she approaches her tween years.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Sre-9bRCnRI/AAAAAAAAA10/UIe_S8Ys7zk/s1600-h/IMG_3375.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Sre-9bRCnRI/AAAAAAAAA10/UIe_S8Ys7zk/s400/IMG_3375.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383981842045246738" border="0" /></a>Here's Bear-Bear checking on some produce. He can be pretty intense when he's exploring.<br /><br />That's about it for us... Nonny &amp; Poppa, welcome to Jersey next week!B^4noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-62602738103972448552009-05-22T01:43:00.012-04:002009-05-22T13:38:26.538-04:00Musings from my time as a Stay-at-Home dad...I don't know where General Mills earned his stripes, but it wasn't in the War on Childhood Obesity. Today's Lucky Charms have WAY more marshmallows than when I was a kid.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ShY_cqpsX_I/AAAAAAAAAws/JfHSFlphmQ8/s1600-h/LuckyCharms.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ShY_cqpsX_I/AAAAAAAAAws/JfHSFlphmQ8/s320/LuckyCharms.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338524170012352498" border="0" /></a><br />If you're a young mother with even the slightest doubt as to the paternity of your child, an appearance on <i>Maury Povich</i> is NOT going to make your life better. An invitation to the Maury Povich show should be accompanied by a carton of Virginia Slims and a Calvin-pissing sticker for adhesion on the busted back window of your <i>Fiero</i> up on cinder blocks in the front yard, patiently awaiting the installation of a new valve cover gasket your baby-daddy lifted from a pick n' pull.<br /><br />The 1st law of thermodynamics does not apply to babies. An infant may consume a mere 4 oz of milk and 4 oz of rice cereal but still pump out a turd that would alarm an African elephant. Clearly, Sir Isaac Newton never changed a diaper.<br /><br />If you're at home w/the kids all day they won't care what you wear, or if you choose to shower, or if you have a few large and low-hanging boogs, or whatever. But the outside world is far more judgmental, speaking specifically of the cackling gas station cashiers Chevron employs. Put down the frozen breakfast corn dogs, Gemma, and, Shawlinda, turn off <i>the View </i>blaring in the background so your empty heads can contemplate their own problems for a change.<br /><br />Discovery Channel is 70% sharks, 20% Man vs. Wild and 10% a reminder from the scientific community to Christians: "Only Retards Believe In Creationism".<br /><br />An infant should never, under any circumstance, be fed prunes. Why such parental excitement over periodic irregularity? It's better your little guy be slightly constipated, mildly plugged, than movin' it like a pastry bag of melted ice cream squeezed by the Incredible Hulk.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ShZC0XWOMKI/AAAAAAAAAw8/64f-Gi2zTKg/s1600-h/theHULK.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 84px; height: 128px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ShZC0XWOMKI/AAAAAAAAAw8/64f-Gi2zTKg/s320/theHULK.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338527875682152610" border="0" /></a><br />If you're out and about with the kids and nature calls, it might seem like a time-saver to take them into the restroom stall whilst you stand there and relieve yourself. Not a good idea, as any toddler will eventually succumb to the temptation to touch your pee stream. Apparently curiosity killed the cat and still found time to spray a toddler with urine.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ShZF0wSj1GI/AAAAAAAAAxE/-InQutLvNGE/s1600-h/BradyinMensRoomStall.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ShZF0wSj1GI/AAAAAAAAAxE/-InQutLvNGE/s320/BradyinMensRoomStall.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338531180912563298" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The Baby Bjorn was invented by a woman, for no man would design a way to suspend a kid at the perfect height to repeatedly mule-kick him in the balls.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ShZC0apJILI/AAAAAAAAAw0/lSmQhJGpma8/s1600-h/Coronado+Beach+%2886%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ShZC0apJILI/AAAAAAAAAw0/lSmQhJGpma8/s320/Coronado+Beach+%2886%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338527876566818994" border="0" /></a><br />It's nice to be needed, even if only to rinse "puke up" from your daughter's hair at 3am while your wife pretends to sleep soundly through the <span class="indefinitionword">mêlée. It has been said "life is what happens when you're making plans", and since I surely didn't plan to clean up a Hansel &amp; Gretel-like barf trail between my daughter's bed, garbage can and two separate toilets, I'd have to agree.</span>B^4noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-51793829501069075242009-03-29T22:11:00.003-04:002009-03-29T22:22:05.804-04:00"Hola, soy Vince con Shamwow..."ShamWow commercial in Vince's broken Spanish. A must see for the whole family: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=veauQGzEf7Y<br /><br /><br /><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/BRITTI%7E1/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SdAscfwjHiI/AAAAAAAAAvM/cZKShaJwZoc/s1600-h/ShamWow.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 107px; height: 110px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SdAscfwjHiI/AAAAAAAAAvM/cZKShaJwZoc/s320/ShamWow.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318800027997642274" border="0" /></a>EnjoyB^4noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-2711059461945659892009-03-20T03:38:00.085-04:002009-03-21T20:21:13.088-04:00When animals attack...Trolling the Net awhile back I came across an awesome site I wish I had discovered years ago. It answers all of the burning questions. Absent any "what is the meaning of life"-type quandaries, this website is left to explore really important questions, to wit:<br /><br />"What if a Siberian Tiger and a Gorilla got in a fight... who would win?"<br />"What if a Polar Bear and a Kodiak Bear got in a fight... who would win?"<br />"What if a Mountain Lion and Geraldo's mustache got in a fight... who would win?"<br /><br />I know, if you're a guy you've lost sleep on some of these very questions; hours you could have been watching re-runs of <span style="font-style: italic;">Small Wonder</span> on TVLand but instead were left to the machinations of a mind occupied by unlikely animal brawls. Well, <a href="http://www.wildanimalfightclub.com/">Wild Animal Fight Club</a> attempts to end these sleepless nights. Here are a few highlights:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Gorilla vs. Tiger</span><br />"If a Silverback Gorilla were to ever be pitted against a Siberian Tiger, both animals would be cautious in making the first move. The Gorilla would try to stand as large as possible, pound its chest, and yell as loud as it could in order to try and scare off the Tiger. This plan would backfire and insight the cautious tiger into attacking. The huge cat would pounce straight for the Ape's throat. With the Gorilla caught off guard the Tiger is able to avoid the Gorilla's powerful arms and get inside. The Gorilla ferociously tries to bite at the Tiger, but its too late. The Tiger sticks its four inch canine teeth through the neck of the Gorilla and the fight is over."<br /><br />One could mull over a pithier question: how could a Tiger from Siberia fight a Gorilla from Africa? Perhaps the two meet due to a freak gorilla-cage &amp; tiger-enclosure malfunction at the San Diego Zoo. Or they are unknowingly dating the same Gazelle and she gets her days confused, fatally inviting them both over for movie-night.<br /><br />Also, I love how the author predicts the Gorilla's "plan would backfire", as if the Gorilla had thought about the possibility it might one day have to fight a tiger and formulated a defense plan. Seriously, I've been to Hogle Zoo enough to know Gorilla's basically sit around and pick at their butts all day. I doubt their colons contain any <span style="font-style: italic;">"Operation Siberian Tiger"</span> contingencies.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lion vs. Tiger</span><br />"First of all for this fight we will use the Bengal Tiger, instead of the much larger <a class="" href="http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/siberian-tiger.html" target="_new" mce_href="http://animals.nationalgeographic.com/animals/mammals/siberian-tiger.html">Siberian Tiger</a>, so we can give the poor Lion a chance. The fact is that the Lion still would have no shot. The Tiger is just a far superior animal. It is stronger and faster. It hunts bigger prey and doesn't need the help of something called a pride. Pride? The Lion should be ashamed."<br /><br />The author doesn't know the difference between incite and insight, but he can differentiate prey from pray.<br /><br />And conspicuously absent: A Shark riding on an Elephant's back.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ScWBVZcRQQI/AAAAAAAAAvE/VZdbo7O_3OE/s1600-h/Elephant.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 110px; height: 135px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ScWBVZcRQQI/AAAAAAAAAvE/VZdbo7O_3OE/s320/Elephant.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315797139787432194" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ScWBU7R4OTI/AAAAAAAAAu8/6Wsz-sxMYYs/s1600-h/Shark.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 143px; height: 107px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/ScWBU7R4OTI/AAAAAAAAAu8/6Wsz-sxMYYs/s320/Shark.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315797131690785074" border="0" /></a>B^4noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-4735733790593587432009-03-16T11:30:00.008-04:002009-03-16T12:32:00.640-04:00Brookers wakes up to say to me this morning..."Daddy... why did Nonny and Poppa have to stay in San Diego? I wanta go ta see Nonny and Poppa wight now. I pwomise I will be weally good dis time."<br /><br />We drove to San Diego this last weekend to spend time with the Gpa's. Friday night we stayed in a nasty downtown hotel:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Sb53gCSnisI/AAAAAAAAAus/2EopWLmjMeE/s1600-h/RodewayInn.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 280px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Sb53gCSnisI/AAAAAAAAAus/2EopWLmjMeE/s320/RodewayInn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313816002598243010" border="0" /></a><br />Saturday we upgraded to the Navy Lodge on Coronado Island:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Sb53gr1vMWI/AAAAAAAAAu0/8n291-5JRHs/s1600-h/CoronadoIsland.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Sb53gr1vMWI/AAAAAAAAAu0/8n291-5JRHs/s320/CoronadoIsland.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313816013751398754" border="0" /></a><br />Okay, so none of the above pics is actually ours. We forgot our cameras. Oh well. It was still fun to dink around Balboa Park, driving around in circles for hours fighting with Californians for parking spots while Brooklyn yelled at Poppa: "Dere is one wight dere, Poppa! Jus' pahk the cahr wight dere!"B^4noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-6627105820933061952009-03-01T21:26:00.011-05:002009-03-02T00:19:59.585-05:00Brittiny was teaching her 3 year-olds at church today...and mentioned that "Heavenly Father can see us, He knows all."<br />Brooklyn said: "How's that, Mommy?"<br />"He lives in heaven and watches us from heaven."<br />"You mean, with his binoculars?"<br /><br />Brooklyn proudly displaying her cupcakes. She took these around the neighborhood and gave them to her friends. Well, those that her dad didn't scarf.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatIwf52XbI/AAAAAAAAAt0/sdPVMhfQITc/s1600-h/Winter+2008-09+106.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatIwf52XbI/AAAAAAAAAt0/sdPVMhfQITc/s320/Winter+2008-09+106.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308416583821319602" border="0" /></a><br />These are the ladybug cookies that Brittiny made for Brookers' tea party. The large bug heads are actually milk duds.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatIviw3MfI/AAAAAAAAAts/RAjJWWuDNkk/s1600-h/Winter+2008-09+114.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatIviw3MfI/AAAAAAAAAts/RAjJWWuDNkk/s320/Winter+2008-09+114.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308416567409062386" border="0" /></a><br />Brooklyn enjoying dusk on the beach at Coronado's North Island, San Diego. Little turd refused to open her eyes for any pictures. 50 shots of her with closed eyes.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatWzwqwpjI/AAAAAAAAAuM/p13WbjqGwxM/s1600-h/Coronado+Beach+%2859%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatWzwqwpjI/AAAAAAAAAuM/p13WbjqGwxM/s320/Coronado+Beach+%2859%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308432033023829554" border="0" /></a><br />"Daddy, I have sand in my shoes. Just wait a minute."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatWzYVnbaI/AAAAAAAAAuE/x7HhVvm6FK0/s1600-h/Oceanside+Beach+%286%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatWzYVnbaI/AAAAAAAAAuE/x7HhVvm6FK0/s320/Oceanside+Beach+%286%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308432026492693922" border="0" /></a><br />Hanging out at a park in Temecula, CA. Brady stole his little hat from a Newsie.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatWzKAp0lI/AAAAAAAAAt8/kbI56Cb0fME/s1600-h/Temecula+Park+%2818%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatWzKAp0lI/AAAAAAAAAt8/kbI56Cb0fME/s320/Temecula+Park+%2818%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308432022646674002" border="0" /></a><br />Brady Bear does his version of the Robot.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatkfaJoU8I/AAAAAAAAAuc/rrJKdeeEhKA/s1600-h/Coronado+Beach+%2876%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SatkfaJoU8I/AAAAAAAAAuc/rrJKdeeEhKA/s320/Coronado+Beach+%2876%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308447076544697282" border="0" /></a><br />Another pic of the little guy from Coronado.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Satke4xchfI/AAAAAAAAAuU/ZH1MU0NjRA4/s1600-h/Coronado+Beach+%28100%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/Satke4xchfI/AAAAAAAAAuU/ZH1MU0NjRA4/s320/Coronado+Beach+%28100%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308447067584890354" border="0" /></a>B^4noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-19459275667845410212009-01-29T22:33:00.016-05:002009-01-29T22:54:37.231-05:00"Brooklyn, what are you going to do when you grow up?"..."I am going to kick my daddy in the balls."<br /><br />Geez...<br /><br />Then tonight I was telling Brooklyn a bedtime story, but all of the classics escaped me: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, The Pit and the Pendulum. So I resorted to telling her a magical tale about Super Mario Brothers &amp; Princess Toadstool. As I described the "mean, ugly, self-loathing King Bowser" who had imprisoned the Princess, Brooklyn stopped me.<br /><br />"Is it you, Daddy? Are you da Bowser?"<br /><br />What a little hoser. From now on bedtime stories will be confined to readings from the Wall Street Journal.B^4noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-37976258886942727532008-12-09T21:56:00.028-05:002008-12-18T00:32:21.368-05:00As Christmas Day approaches...... I see more and more commercials for video games [ie, <em>World of Warcraft</em>, <em>Call of Duty</em>] and at the end of each advertisement a voiceover says: "Rated M for Mature" despite the target audience being anything but. I think the games should be: "Rated PB for Lives in Parents' Basement".<br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnHG4HWN7I/AAAAAAAAArA/u8Cnt-jLC0w/s1600-h/Tgiving+Spread.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280970959024961458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnHG4HWN7I/AAAAAAAAArA/u8Cnt-jLC0w/s320/Tgiving+Spread.jpg" border="0" /></a> Here's a pic of our T-giving spread. The food turned out to be pretty tasty, no complaints. The nice thing about not having any friends is that we didn't have to share dinner with anyone. I guess the bad thing about no friends is having to buy your own power tools.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280993741425910834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnb0_LApDI/AAAAAAAAArI/VygbYUdup1M/s320/IMG_2086.jpg" border="0" />Let's shove something up this Turkey's butt... let's shove some wet bread up its butt...<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnHGedX09I/AAAAAAAAAq4/Pt-F6XGHrHU/s1600-h/Pineapple.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280970952138019794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnHGedX09I/AAAAAAAAAq4/Pt-F6XGHrHU/s320/Pineapple.jpg" border="0" /></a> Before snapping this picture I said, "Brooklyn, say cheese!" She pulled Brittiny's hair up into a top knot and said, "Say pineapple!"<br /><br /><div><br /><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnHF9ZFn4I/AAAAAAAAAqo/HT-1KiJWoGo/s1600-h/ChristmasCard3.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280970943261679490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnHF9ZFn4I/AAAAAAAAAqo/HT-1KiJWoGo/s320/ChristmasCard3.jpg" border="0" /></a>Mom and Braden<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnHGG9qFKI/AAAAAAAAAqw/vWdrDAR9dlM/s1600-h/IMG_2086.jpg"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnb1tPcVXI/AAAAAAAAArY/utrhmV_JoiQ/s1600-h/IMG_2040.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280993753792533874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnb1tPcVXI/AAAAAAAAArY/utrhmV_JoiQ/s320/IMG_2040.jpg" border="0" /></a>The other night Brookers pitched a fit, got timed out for a while in her room. She showed us who's the boss, though, as she defaced her headboard.</div><div></div><div><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnb1JjH2ZI/AAAAAAAAArQ/d7nUS3YYm2I/s1600-h/IMG_2146.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280993744211401106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SUnb1JjH2ZI/AAAAAAAAArQ/d7nUS3YYm2I/s320/IMG_2146.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />These little bouncy seat thingies always make me think of riding my bike over to McDonald's with Kevster to buy a Big Mac.</div></div></div>B^4noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-29496078015988326312008-11-28T22:20:00.005-05:002008-11-28T22:56:03.201-05:00"So, um, Dad...... did you know that there are some of birds that don't fly?"<br /><br />I reply, "Really, Brooklyn, what birds would those be?" wondering if she can name any flightless fowl.<br /><br />"Dead ones."<br /><br />"I suppose you're right, Brookers."<br /><br />Touche to the two year-old.B^4noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-34430541673781838662008-10-12T19:45:00.008-04:002008-10-12T23:52:14.371-04:00Buncha new pics...<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SPKT8Z5tq8I/AAAAAAAAAg4/C9UWc-TaXcQ/s1600-h/IMG_1742.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256426381049179074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SPKT8Z5tq8I/AAAAAAAAAg4/C9UWc-TaXcQ/s320/IMG_1742.jpg" border="0" /></a>Braden's shoes... not sure why he has shoes.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SPKT8Z7QGoI/AAAAAAAAAhA/LOxsHG3XPiU/s1600-h/IMG_1753.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256426381055629954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SPKT8Z7QGoI/AAAAAAAAAhA/LOxsHG3XPiU/s320/IMG_1753.jpg" border="0" /></a>The kids chillin'... Brady looks pretty gangsta.</p><br /><p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SPKT9HfoF5I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/Spk5-xc4jdw/s1600-h/IMG_1769.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256426393287792530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SPKT9HfoF5I/AAAAAAAAAhQ/Spk5-xc4jdw/s320/IMG_1769.jpg" border="0" /></a>...and here chomping his fingers...</p><p></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256473626038234498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SPK-6bM37YI/AAAAAAAAAhY/06vQlDfbsh0/s320/IMG_1774.jpg" border="0" /></p><br />Brookers glamming in a dress her Nonny made ~ she wore this number to church. The pigtails lasted all of 15mins.B^4noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-11298350519529212452008-09-06T17:54:00.017-04:002008-09-22T02:29:50.119-04:00"Heavenly Father...please bless the cheetos that I will be eating, 'cause they are so good, and dat I can poop and pee in da potty and not in my pants cause I am a big girl and bless Nonny and Papa that he can feel well and Nina that she can be a dog... Jesus Christ, Amen." Brooklyn's prayers are getting better.<br /><br />She recently celebrated her 3rd Birthday in style - at Chuck E Cheese. Buncha pics below:<br /><p><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SMNfk44SkDI/AAAAAAAAAfw/1ILG4f1vZ6Y/s1600-h/ChuckECheese_Brookers.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243139478537801778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SMNfk44SkDI/AAAAAAAAAfw/1ILG4f1vZ6Y/s320/ChuckECheese_Brookers.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SMNflMpGgnI/AAAAAAAAAf4/gpJUGhozE9w/s1600-h/ChuckECheese_BrookersandMommy.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243139483842806386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SMNflMpGgnI/AAAAAAAAAf4/gpJUGhozE9w/s320/ChuckECheese_BrookersandMommy.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SMNlAmSJLVI/AAAAAAAAAgA/BykHwQbA44c/s1600-h/ChuckECheese_BrookersandCo2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243145452140440914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SMNlAmSJLVI/AAAAAAAAAgA/BykHwQbA44c/s320/ChuckECheese_BrookersandCo2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SMNlA429UnI/AAAAAAAAAgI/Ufnhz2YOBh0/s1600-h/Sep2008+023.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243145457126691442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SMNlA429UnI/AAAAAAAAAgI/Ufnhz2YOBh0/s320/Sep2008+023.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />So what can I say about Chuck E Cheese birthday parties? </p><p>The Bad: pizza is so bland it needs ketchup and mayo, Chuck E Cheese looks like a hydrocephalic gerbil, your kid will catch a cold from exposure to dozens of other grimy booger-eating toddlers spreading germs, and the $35 "special Birthday Surprise" is a stale doughnut pilfered from the dumpster behind the neighboring Starbucks. </p><p>The Good: the kids all leave you alone most of the evening, someone else gets paid to clean up the mess which includes any toddler pee on the floor ["Oh my gosh I can't believe it's really Chuck E Cheese and I can't have Dad take me to the potty because I might miss him!"] and spew in the carpet ["Daddy, I fink da pizza is dross and I fink I don't feel well and I fink I'm gonna puke-up... BRRRAAAAAAPPPPP!"]</p><p>Yeah, Chuck E Cheese is pretty awesome.</p>B^4noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-48516799369197020582008-08-19T01:00:00.030-04:002008-08-24T00:54:00.967-04:00"I am da mommy and you are......da kid," Brooklyn told me this afternoon. "Okay, I'll be the kid".<br /><br />Brooklyn then proceeded to speak with me only in character, meaning that she was "Mommy" married to "Hockey Prince Charming" with at least one kid: me.<br /><br />I asked her, "Where is Hockey Prince Charming?"<br /><br />"He is busy working, Kid."<br /><br />"What does he do for work?"<br /><br />"He sits right there (pointing to my brown office chair in front of my work PC) and makes e-mails all day long and talks on the phone." I thought that was pretty funny.<br /><br /><br />Anyway, Braden has grown quite a bit over the last couple of weeks, drinking lots of milk and filling his diapers with a seemingly endless supply of grey poupon.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKpfO6pmicI/AAAAAAAAAbE/Fuw2OjItbwM/s1600-h/BradenBathtime.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236102226638178754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKpfO6pmicI/AAAAAAAAAbE/Fuw2OjItbwM/s320/BradenBathtime.jpg" border="0" /></a> I'm too lazy to re-import this picture right-side up, but Braden loves his bath time.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKpfPHK5jRI/AAAAAAAAAbM/NFsdcdUFGD4/s1600-h/BradenSmiley.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236102229999062290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKpfPHK5jRI/AAAAAAAAAbM/NFsdcdUFGD4/s320/BradenSmiley.jpg" border="0" /></a>Little bit of a smile, little bit of a faux-hawk. Braden is a truly happy kid; yet unaware that life sucks, people are mostly tools and the government taxes you even after death.<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKpfP1y1FNI/AAAAAAAAAbU/cDEOZK00RJ4/s1600-h/BradenWideEyes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236102242514572498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKpfP1y1FNI/AAAAAAAAAbU/cDEOZK00RJ4/s320/BradenWideEyes.jpg" border="0" /></a> A close up of our Brady-bear. So the dude looks more Albrightesque than Eppersonic, I think. Here's my take: </p><ul><li>Eyes: Torgersen/Thomas</li><li>Mouth: Epperson</li><li>Nose: Albright</li><li>Ears: Albright/Thomas</li><li>Eyebrows: Charles Bronson</li></ul>A couple of weeks ago we moved from our Yuma Foothills home onto the Marine Corps Air Station in town. We're happy with our new place and the nice community. We did the move ourselves, which was kind of nice in that we got a chance to sort of inventory our stuff.<br /><br />Brittiny once told me, after she watched me help a neighbor move a washing machine out of an apartment basement: "I would so much rather have babies than life heavy furniture."<br /><br /><br />Having witnessed 2 pregnancies there is no way lifting a bunch of boxes can compare. For one, helping someone move doesn't make you irrational or gassy. Secondly, at the end of a pregnancy you have a cute little kid, instead of damaged furniture and a lot of marital tension. I did split my $9 TJ Maxx cargo's bending down to hoist a box of books.<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236144152856311618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKqFXV-9N0I/AAAAAAAAAbc/6USAMwTloFI/s320/BrandonMovingBoxessplitpants.JPG" border="0" /><br />The next morning we awoke in our new place. The fact that we were up until midnight moving boxes didn't phase Brookers-boo. She quickly made a friend, Leslyn, and marshalled a robust tea party, hosting in her Vera Wang fairy costume. </p><p>Leslyn's dad is a Gunnery Sgt with the Marines. When the girls started pouring the "tea" he blurted: PINKIES OUT, MAGGOTS!<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236144167843381074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKqFYN0Jv1I/AAAAAAAAAbs/V9rZGjhTvnE/s320/BrooklynLeslynTeaParty.jpg" border="0" /></p>A few days after settling into our new place we decided to try out the base pool. It's across the street and really quite nice. In the below pic Brooklyn is trying to maintain her cool despite being told she would be swimming 20 mins earlier.<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236144176663987890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKqFYurJhrI/AAAAAAAAAb0/vawWLQ1ovAI/s320/BrooklynGlamSwimmingPool.jpg" border="0" /></p><br />Note her cute pose - she's managed to stay relevant despite her scene-stealing little brother.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236144160956621506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SKqFX0KOIsI/AAAAAAAAAbk/qOQNmZ4iRAM/s320/BrooklynatthePool4.JPG" border="0" />B^4noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-37173051973927470882008-06-23T02:16:00.063-04:002008-06-24T11:15:51.822-04:00Kids are stupid......but probably only because they spend most of their time trying to act like adults. I mean, have you seen <em>Flavor of Love</em>? We adults are setting the bar pretty fetching low.<br /><br /><div><div>Today Brooklyn threw a sweet fit. She was actually upset over a timeout levied earlier in the evening but launched into a vocal and violent protest vs. Brittiny such that I had to start her on an additional timeout.</div><br /><div></div><div>Why time her out again, you may ask? Often enough the first timeout doesn't "take" and must be repeated in both frequency and severity. It's like going to a chiropractor for "adjustments". It's not uncommon for a healthy 2 year old to require a baker's dozen of "adjustments" before lunch.</div><br /><div></div><div>So at this point I'm pr<a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SF9Eb7357MI/AAAAAAAAAUM/_Mw_CvMgoXY/s1600-h/LUDrumgoole.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214962140237655234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 270px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 162px" height="179" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SF9Eb7357MI/AAAAAAAAAUM/_Mw_CvMgoXY/s320/LUDrumgoole.jpg" width="289" border="0" /></a>etty sorry for the kid, since she's visited the well-worn timeout corner a few times already that day. Walking her down the hall I feel like the a-hole prison Warden, Drumgoole (Donald Sutherland) from <em>Lock Up </em>introducing Frank Leone (Stallone) to his cell.<em> </em>I kneel beside her and say, "Brookers, you need 3 minutes of timeout to cool your jets and think about how mean you were to Mommy." Judging by her reaction she clearly hears Warden Drumgoole's voice sneering out: <em>"This is hell, and I'm going to give you the guided tour!" </em></div><br /><div></div><div>Anyway, so 3 or 20 minutes pass - I wasn't keeping a close eye on the time - and I go back into Brooker's room for the post-timeout routine.<br /><br />"Why are you in timeout?"</div><div>"Because I was hitting Mom like this (punching the air) and kicking her."</div><div>"Thank you for telling me what you did. Now please go tell Mom you're sorry and promise her you won't hit her again."<br />"No. I no want to."<br />"Brooklyn Margo you will march right up to your Mother and tell her you're sorry for hitting her or you will stay in timeout all night long."</div><br /><div></div><div>At this Brooklyn hops down off her bed and marches, arms gesticulating wildly in the air with each step, knees kicking high off the tile floor - she's actually marching, the same way she does to her stupid Barney video where a bunch of annoying <em>High School the Musical </em>rejects march and prance around and pretend to give a crap about a dog named BINGO - all the way down the hall. Mom is sitting on the couch, so Brooklyn leans in and says, quite unctuously:</div><div><br />"I'n sorry Mommy fo' hitting you."</div><div>"Thank you, Brooklyn. I forgive you."<br /><br />Brooklyn pauses for a moment, standing in front of the couch, then turns and runs full speed back to her room crying all the way. Those present to witness the apology are left to ponder its significance: Had we witnessed tears of joy from the soul-cleansing catharsis that comes only from true repentance? Was Brooklyn contemplating the far-reaching love of a selfless mother who so easily forgave her trespass? Did the <em>gravitas</em> of the intricate relationship between mercy and justice just bring a two year-old to tears?</div><br /><div></div><div>If you answered "Yes"<a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SF9PJxJIKKI/AAAAAAAAAUU/j_gcq4AB2uw/s1600-h/FrankLeone.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214973922747361442" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="195" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SF9PJxJIKKI/AAAAAAAAAUU/j_gcq4AB2uw/s320/FrankLeone.jpg" width="270" border="0" /></a> to any of the above three hypo's you obviously don't have kids. To look into the eyes of a sly two year old, when, out of necessity she is forced to apologize, is to see a stubborn will tortured by the realization of its own weakness. </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Though her lips may ask forgiveness whilst tears flow down her porcelain cheeks, her heart cries out: <em>"You'll never break me, Drumgoole!"</em></div></div>B^4noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-71492973140530109942008-06-18T16:09:00.021-04:002008-06-18T17:59:17.120-04:00Heavy is the head that wears the crown...... but Mom is quick to remind me that in the Epperson line there is no crown, no walloping great wodges of cash to bequest, no "sceptered sway". But, for the record, she spent her first 20 years as a Torgersen and cannot be trusted. ;)<br /><br />At 07:28 PST on Tuesday, June 17th, Braden Brent Epperson abruptly entered LDRP room 303 at Yuma Regional Medical Center. Brittiny was a champ through her pregnancy and labor, and as I write this, is enjoying a well-deserved nap.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213338161030535426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SFl_b542mQI/AAAAAAAAANg/LVRNYl13kV8/s400/BRADENHOSPITAL+023.jpg" border="0" />King Darius had Xerxes and JFK his "John-John", now I have Braden Brent.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SFl6-vXoMxI/AAAAAAAAANI/Vie-LlXbLfc/s1600-h/BRADENHOSPITAL+030.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213333261944107794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SFl6-vXoMxI/AAAAAAAAANI/Vie-LlXbLfc/s400/BRADENHOSPITAL+030.jpg" border="0" /></a>Here's Baby Braden trying desperately to give me the finger. Who do you think he looks like?<br /><br /><div></div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213330606933540450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SFl4kMrx_mI/AAAAAAAAAM4/lhL4MJdImOo/s400/BRADENHOSPITAL+003.jpg" border="0" />Grammy and Brooklyn came to visit us at the hospital. Brooklyn seemed un-phased by the competition, and was ever-so-sweet to her little brother. We'll see how long that lasts.<br /><div></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213338141522203234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SFl_axNtEmI/AAAAAAAAANY/N9s-lARGZ9I/s400/BRADENHOSPITAL+010.jpg" border="0" />When she was asked to hand back Braden, Brooklyn replied, "No, I am Braden's Mommy." It was a cute moment.<br /><div></div><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213338133291449602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SFl_aSjVvQI/AAAAAAAAANQ/q73Nb2SbPJw/s400/BRADENHOSPITAL+035.jpg" border="0" />The official stats above. I like the stork cartoon in the lower right of the card. I asked our nurse, "If the stork delivered our baby, then what's with the big bill?" Get it?... Maybe that joke would work if the story were about a duck delivering babies instead of a stork... Oh well.B^4noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-42028855786706328122008-05-06T00:08:00.032-04:002008-05-06T02:17:03.803-04:0020,000 leagues in a Chrysler Town & Country......well, so long as those leagues translate into roughly 3,400 miles. We 3 B's drove to Utah a week ago, then with Nonny &amp; Poppa continued on to Portland Oregon for some R&amp;R. The trip was fun and devoid of drama.<br /><br /><br />Two weeks earlier I flew to CT for work and Brittiny + Brookers spent the weekend there with me. It was fun to drive up to New Haven on the weekend to see so many friends from New Hay Hay and the Woodbridge Ward. Good times.<br /><br /><br />Now the pics...<br /><br /><div><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_lg_gqhoI/AAAAAAAAALg/7hdXwyODpfg/s1600-h/BrookersFlowersYuma+(3).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197124849975854722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_lg_gqhoI/AAAAAAAAALg/7hdXwyODpfg/s400/BrookersFlowersYuma+(3).jpg" border="0" /></a>Here Brooklyn tends to our scant Yuma garden. She prefers a spray bottle over the more traditional watering can. </div><div><br /></div><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_lhfgqhpI/AAAAAAAAALo/YpX_n3sOv6w/s1600-h/Easter2008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197124858565789330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_lhfgqhpI/AAAAAAAAALo/YpX_n3sOv6w/s400/Easter2008.jpg" border="0" /></a>We died Easter eggs this year.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_lh_gqhqI/AAAAAAAAALw/cMOWDZQR8aM/s1600-h/Easter2008+(7).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197124867155723938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_lh_gqhqI/AAAAAAAAALw/cMOWDZQR8aM/s400/Easter2008+(7).jpg" border="0" /></a> Here Brooklyn finds an Easter egg on the back porch. With each egg she found she was equal parts of elation and surprise. Maybe I'm just cynical, but at some point I expected the novelty of finding plastic eggs around the house and backyard to fade. Nope.<br /><br /><br /><p><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_liPgqhrI/AAAAAAAAAL4/MkVU0CmNZTs/s1600-h/ManhattanApril08+(4).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197124871450691250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_liPgqhrI/AAAAAAAAAL4/MkVU0CmNZTs/s400/ManhattanApril08+(4).jpg" border="0" /></a>Here are Mom and Brookers being all chic in NYC. If you can't tell from the pictures, Brittiny is about a month away from giving birth. Brooklyn insisted on keeping her new shades on all day long, even when the sun wasn't shining or we were in the car.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197140122879559442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_zZ_gqhxI/AAAAAAAAAMo/N3ga1HcE4B0/s400/ManhattanApril08.jpg" border="0" />Brooklyn asked us every 10 minutes, "Do you like my new sunglasses? Are they beautiful?"<br /></p><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197122011002472034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_i7vgqhmI/AAAAAAAAALQ/_68GDZA0x7o/s400/ManhattanApril08+(19).jpg" border="0" />In NYC there is a huge Toys R Us. The place is pretty cool, with a large ferris wheel in the middle of the 6 stories of toys. The store gets old when you realize that it's just a big toy store, same as in your local mall, and your wife and daughter are both asking you for your wallet.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197133762032994050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_tnvgqhwI/AAAAAAAAAMg/itS8M99LiNk/s400/ManhattanApril08+(23).jpg" border="0" />This is Brooklyn's reaction to the Toys R Us ferris wheel. Man, were the rest of us bored on this thing! Whoever invented the ferris wheel, I'm guessing Ferris Buehler, had quite the racket going. It's like riding an escalator, except you get off in the same place you got on - a zero sum endeavor. What crap. At least with State Fair ferris wheel's there's the excitement of wondering, "Hey, I might get injured on this thing."<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197130665361573602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_qzfgqhuI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/axdSE5ZuucQ/s400/ManhattanApril08+(40).jpg" border="0" />Here Brooklyn swings in Central Park. She loved the newly renovated kids part in the SW corner. It was pretty cool.</p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197130656771638994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_qy_gqhtI/AAAAAAAAAMI/be-78-LPLF4/s400/ManhattanApril08+(7).jpg" border="0" />Even with all the excitement the City has to offer, 2 year-olds bore easily (yawn)! </p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197122006707504722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_i7fgqhlI/AAAAAAAAALI/v6AUGp0-Pgo/s400/OregonTrip2008+(5).jpg" border="0" />Nonny and Poppa in front of the Columbia River Gorge, just outside of Portland, OR. This view was fantastic.<br /></p><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_i6_gqhkI/AAAAAAAAALA/XdfKTsa7zGQ/s1600-h/OregonTrip2008+(12).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197121998117570114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_i6_gqhkI/AAAAAAAAALA/XdfKTsa7zGQ/s400/OregonTrip2008+(12).jpg" border="0" /></a> Here's Brittiny and me in front of the same backdrop.<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197130673951508210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_qz_gqhvI/AAAAAAAAAMY/9ieFnauk57Q/s400/OregonTrip2008+(33).jpg" border="0" />Upper Multinomah Falls, pretty darn cool. Definitely worth checking out if your in Portland. </p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197143541673527074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/SB_2g_gqhyI/AAAAAAAAAMw/6qAgHIW86v4/s400/OregonTrip2008+(43).jpg" border="0" />Here we are cheesing for the camera. In front of lower Multinomah falls.</p>B^4noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-83649133093704896432008-03-18T01:45:00.019-04:002008-03-18T03:07:41.370-04:00"I'n to watch da Bee Mobie, Daddy..."That's pretty much all Brooker-Boo says these days. Kudos to Jerry Seinfeld for making such a great kids show. It's way better than <em>Finding Nemo </em>and the characters far less objectionable.<br /><br />Last week we had a nice visit from the Nonny. What is a Nonny, you might ask? She's like a nanny who works for free and bakes cookies 6 dozen at a time.<br /><br />We took her to Sea World, which was pretty cool. Proud to be an American as I peeled off the Benjamins to pay for 14 dollar bags of popcorn slurpees in commemorative Shamu mugs. The mugs are made from non-biodegradable plastic, so they'll stay with you about as long as the crippling debt you incur to see a bunch of fish.<br /><br /><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99bQzhe8KI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/oTCDqhchVjk/s1600-h/BrittinyatSeaWorld.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178958440766042274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99bQzhe8KI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/oTCDqhchVjk/s320/BrittinyatSeaWorld.jpg" border="0" /></a>Here's Brittiny peeking out from under her rain slicker. The rain slicker is to protect her in case Shamu spews anchovies into the crowd.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99h4The8RI/AAAAAAAAAKw/xF5oBgh1IWQ/s1600-h/IMG_0741.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178965716440641810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99h4The8RI/AAAAAAAAAKw/xF5oBgh1IWQ/s320/IMG_0741.jpg" border="0" /></a> Here's Shamu VII jumping out of her spacious 64 cu ft seawater tank. I'm amazed that people can train a Killer Whale to corkscrew, splash the crowd on command and dance the <em>"Macarena"</em>, but I can't get a 2 year-old to use the freaking toilet. I bet the trainers could write a mad potty-training book.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99bRjhe8MI/AAAAAAAAAKI/WJkDA2x5Wkg/s1600-h/BrookerstouchingSeaStar.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178958453650944194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99bRjhe8MI/AAAAAAAAAKI/WJkDA2x5Wkg/s320/BrookerstouchingSeaStar.jpg" border="0" /></a>Here Brooklyn is touching her first Sea Star -- Nonny helping her out. She said the star felt like "boogers".<br /><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178958462240878818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99bSDhe8OI/AAAAAAAAAKY/yTFkC6UMXuY/s320/NonnyBrandonBrookers.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br />Nonny, Brookers and me leaving Sea World.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99bRThe8LI/AAAAAAAAAKA/npx8eUDTNKg/s1600-h/BBSanDiegoTemple.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178958449355976882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99bRThe8LI/AAAAAAAAAKA/npx8eUDTNKg/s320/BBSanDiegoTemple.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />After SeaWorld we stopped at the San Diego temple. It's a beautiful temple, but crawling with Mormons.<br /><br /><p><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99bRzhe8NI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/RpLXUqaozbI/s1600-h/Brooklyn_swingswGrandpa2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178958457945911506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99bRzhe8NI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/RpLXUqaozbI/s320/Brooklyn_swingswGrandpa2.jpg" border="0" /></a> We traveled to Utah a few weeks ago for baby Hailey's blessing, staying the first night West of Ogden in Plain City. Here Brooklyn played on Granpa's swingset. Even though it was 15 degrees outside and she was <em>sans</em> coat, we couldn't get her off the swing. She had a great time visiting her cousins and Gpa's.</p><p></p><p><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99h3zhe8PI/AAAAAAAAAKg/Vbnh-a_whjQ/s1600-h/Brooklyn_swings.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178965707850707186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99h3zhe8PI/AAAAAAAAAKg/Vbnh-a_whjQ/s320/Brooklyn_swings.jpg" border="0" /></a>Here is Brooklyn mid-swing.</p><p></p><p><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99h4Dhe8QI/AAAAAAAAAKo/Tg35zYNQeTU/s1600-h/IMG_0726.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178965712145674498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99h4Dhe8QI/AAAAAAAAAKo/Tg35zYNQeTU/s320/IMG_0726.jpg" border="0" /></a>Driving back to Utah, somewhere around Mesquite, Brookers fell asleep. I asked Brittiny to put her sunglasses on her as the sun was in her eyes. Brittiny did so, then asked me if I wanted to watch, <em>Weekend at Bernie's</em>. Weird, I was just thinking the same thing.</p><p></p><p><br /></p><p><a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99h4jhe8SI/AAAAAAAAAK4/bJ9Kc3FrMY0/s1600-h/IMG_0818.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178965720735609122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R99h4jhe8SI/AAAAAAAAAK4/bJ9Kc3FrMY0/s320/IMG_0818.jpg" border="0" /></a>Brooklyn helped me wash the cars last Saturday. She obediently rinsed the front of the car for about 3 seconds and then turned the hose on me, laughing so hard the whole time she could barely hold onto the hose. She would then attempt to coax me back within hosing range, smiling, "Daddy, come a oba here so I'n to do it washa car!" I would slowly approach the car and before I was even in range she would be smiling and laughing at the thought of soaking me with the hose. When I got close enough, she would swing the nozzle toward me and start convulsing in laughter shaking the nozzle all around, getting herself very wet in the process. Kids are so cute.</p><p>Well, that's it for now. More pics to come at a later date.</p>B^4noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-74770696466635983912008-02-11T23:52:00.007-05:002008-02-12T22:28:26.545-05:00Potty Training Part Duke...or is it <em>Deux</em>? Well, you can't expect a man who eats at Arby's to know French anyhow.<br /><br />"<em>Pardon moi</em>, can I have extra horsey sauce with that Arby-Q?"<br /><br /><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166296035712100738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R7Je300g6YI/AAAAAAAAAJg/RpfKHk5czfU/s400/IMG_0695.jpg" border="0" /> Here's Brooklyn riding her Christmas present. It's a Schwinn tricycle that can support up to 115 lb's -- or Bryan Hathenbrook at age 4.</p><p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166296052891969938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R7Je400g6ZI/AAAAAAAAAJo/iaLRjt1p9Ns/s400/IMG_0710.jpg" border="0" />Here's Brooklyn "Cheesing" for the camera.<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166298496728361378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R7JhHE0g6aI/AAAAAAAAAJw/f2QmqOFKFhs/s400/IMG_0703.jpg" border="0" />Another shot of her on the Tricycle. Notice the beefy tires and robust frame.</p>B^4noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-951689961080185012008-01-24T12:13:00.000-05:002008-01-26T02:06:13.835-05:00Greatest Show on Earth...I remember as a kid this recurring nightmare where Grandpa and Grandma took Amy and me to the Wringling Brothers circus at the old Salt Palace and the lions got loose and started charging up the stands and attacking people. In the dream I was left to fight off the lions with a light-up baton and noise maker, which, in my dream, worked pretty well vs. the lions.<br /><br />As you can see w/the below pics of wifey's new Naval maternity uniform, "the Circus is in Town"... meaning she's now wearing a tent to work.<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159573242795073314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R5p8hxlpHyI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/vmaEesl6Rw8/s400/IMG_0675.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>The big news for us is that Brooklyn is potty training. I have the week off from work, so a convenient time to get this ball rolling. I have no idea what the hell I'm doing, and neither does Brooklyn, so we're quite the dynamic duo. Brittiny has steered clear of most of the chaos as she has been at work all week.</p><p>This morning we're at the store and she suddenly calls out to me from a toy aisle: "Daddy, I need a go to a potty right now."</p><p>I reach down to pick her up and correct her: "No, Brooklyn, by the looks of your pants and sopping-wet shoes you probably don't need to "go to a potty" for at least a while now." </p><p>Then in the restroom whilst changing her pee and dukie-soaked clothes I told her:</p><p>"Now Brooklyn, you're a big girl and need to let me know when you need to go potty and no matter where we are I'll get you a potty."</p><p>"No Daddy, I jus' poop and pee in my panties and you get me new ones and wipe my bum and clean the poop."</p><p>So I say: "If you don't poop and pee in the potty then you'll have to wear diapers like a little baby forever. You're not okay with that, are you?"</p><p>Brookers replies: "Yeah, I okay with dat, Daddy. Actually, I know how a wear the diapers and be like a baby."</p><p>I guess even toddlers fear change. And that's pretty much how things have gone these last three days. I am now grateful that we sprang for the leather couches, which are easier to clean than fabric - don't ask. Kids are disgusting.</p><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159573268564877106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_iSyi1ObvlZY/R5p8jRlpHzI/AAAAAAAAAJY/fruNEeCzchU/s400/IMG_0680.jpg" border="0" /><br />Brittiny, Brooklyn and Mindy went for a hike in the foothills around Phoenix. You can see a large Saguaro cactus in the background. These things are everywhere. They are also federally protected, like the Amish, but not opposed to electric appliances, unlike the Amish.B^4noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14087315.post-45536143129447830272008-01-16T01:33:00.001-05:002008-01-16T02:13:10.040-05:00It's a....Boy!... The ultrasound guy was sure he saw "the parts that make the baby a boy."<br /><br />The Epperson line shall survive me, pressure's off.<br /><br />Brooklyn tells me the baby's name is Jake. Or Jaxen. She also informed me that her little brother cost sixteen dollars. Actually, if he's born in the hall like she was then he might be free. Here's to hoping that we make it to the hospital this time.<br /><br />Brittiny and I now begin the agonizing process of choosing a baby name... open for suggestions.<br /><br />You know, if someone asks you if you're ticklish, it doesn't matter what you say - they're going to touch you... I guess you could say, "I have explosive diarrhea."B^4noreply@blogger.com9